Comrade
by Xx SadoMasochist xX
Summary: Alfred gets kidnapped by Ivan. So, naturally, the bumbling idiot needs a hero of his own, sometimes. This is where I come in... USxUK, FrUK if you squint. Human and country names both used.
1. Prologue

**Story: **Comrade

**Pairings: **USxUK, FrUK if you squint.

**Summary:** Alfred gets kidnapped by Ivan. So, naturally, the bumbling idiot needs a hero of his own, sometimes. This is where I come in... USxUK, FrUK if you squint. Human and country names both used.

**Warnings: **Gore, hysteria, comrade!Arthur, comrade!Alfred, serious Hetalia, England angst, sadistic!Alfred, comforting!France

**Disclaimer: **I wish I were the owner of Hetalia. Then I'd be able to eat something other than ramen for linch. :T

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"A-Ah!"

It's so cold. So much pain courses through my body, leaving me to twitch and shudder on the concrete floor of the windowless room. Fatigue eats at my sanity and all I can muster up the strength to do is curl into a fetal position, hiding my face. Please, no more blows to the face.....

There are no words for the betrayal, anger, and hurt I feel right now. But even moreso than the pain, and the emotions flowing from my subconscious like the blood from my open wounds, is the imminent crushing blow of failure. The sinking anchor of intense shortcomings is what keeps me in position, even moreso than the pain and the fatigue and the heaviness of my limbs. "D-dammit!"

The expletive runs raw from my throat, voice hoarse and cracking from the abuse that it's suffered- the abuse that I've suffered. Normally, I'd sit here stoically; bravely taking any and every blow while myteeth tear at the flesh of my lip, keeping any sound behind the pearly enamel of my teeth. It wouldn't do the amuse the bloody Russian bastard. He's been trying to break me for... How long has it been? Days? Weeks? Years? Decades? I've lost track of time.

I've bravely and stubbornly held onto my sanity, all but desperately clinging to the idea of whisking Alfred away from this dark, macabre place. How the Soviet wanker did it, I don't know, but his new "weapon" broke me in two- for the very boy I''d sworn I'd go to hell and back for, was the very cause of my excrutiating pain.

The energy to even cry out dies in my as, once more, Alfred's... Yes, ALFRED'S.. steel-toed boots connect with my ribs, my head thrown back and mouth open in a silent, tortured scream, eyes screwed shut. I can hear the groans and protests of my bones, feel the white-hot needles of stabbing pain through me as the cracking runs all the way up my body, resounding in my core.

The will to fight is all but gone.... Decimated, as soon as my eyes connect with those damned baby blues.

I can't hurt him.

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**A/N**: Alright, so I'm back with a vengeance! Hahah. This one WILL be finished, I promise orz.

The chapters will be much, much longer than this. This was just to set up the story.


	2. All But Lost

**Chapter One: All But Lost**

**A/N: The RP that's spawned this fan fiction is finally finished, so I can begin typing. I do hope the prologue wasn't misleading and kept your interest, and sorry for the gap between that chapter and this one. To avoid any confusion, I've started this fiction like a Quentin Tarantino movie, placing a glimpse from a random story as the prologue and then going back to start at the beginning. So here goes, I do hope you enjoy. Also, so you're aware, the fic is in Arthur/England's POV.**

**Warning: Human names used.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own. :T**

**--SadoMasochist**

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The date is October 15th, 2009 at roughly 3:00. Not a particularly important date by any means, in any country so far as I know. Being always punctual, I had gone to sleep at my usual time of 22:00, though a particularly nasty storm had woken me from my slumber and now I couldn't sleep. Naturally, the first thing I went to do was to put the kettle on.

Leaning against the counter, I mused to myself aloud. It may be a sign of insanity, though truthfully I could care less. No one was around and it was a habit I had picked up around the early 18th century; something more than two centuries old would not die so easily. "I wonder.... I'm... Let's see, five hours ahead of where Alfred's house is? So it's roughly ten o'clock there, and knowing the insufferable git he's still on his computer talking to Gilbert or Matthew."

I sighed softly, looking down to the kettle and waiting for it to sound. "I suppose he wouldn't want to talk to me before going to bed..."

I blinked as a rather sleepy faerie buzzed by, arms crossed behind her head lazily and her eyes half closed as she fluttered in the air. "Oh, bugger it."

Pushing off of the counter, I stretched and yawned, scrunching up my face. "It's not like I have anything else to do," I muttered to myself once I steadied. "Besides, maybe talking to him will make me tired enough to where I'll be able to doze off later."

Padding over to the parlour, I sighed softly and, still blinking the sleep from my eyes, scanned the room for my computer in the semi-darkness. It was, of course, in its usual spot and I found it easily. "Hopefully this blinking thing is charged," I muttered to myself as I brought it with me out into the kitchen. Of course, there was no way it possibly couldn't be as I left it on the charger cord every night before I went to bed. Still, my voice was a bittersweet company, you understand. It made me feel not quite so alone.

The kettle sounded just as I prepared to sit down and I groaned slightly, pressing the power button on the laptop before trudging over to the stove. In all actuality it was quite pleasing to hear the kettle sound, and while I was grousing to the air I was actually quite content. The linoleum was cool beneath my bare feet and the promise of a nice, warm cup of earl grey to sit between my frosted fingers was soothing. It was early mornings like these that made life more bearable.

Going about fixing the drink, I sighed softly, thinking. Things between Alfred and I had been a great deal less tense lately, and we had even begun visiting at the very least once a month to the other's house. I was looking forward to him coming over in a few days' time; just under a fortnight left before Halloween and, as always, we were planning on trying to out-scare each other. A small, confident grin spread across my face at this thought because, as always, I planned to win. I always won.

Bringing the tea to my seat at the supper table, I took a small sip and let out a long, contented sigh. I supposed I lived for peaceful nights like this, away from all the raucous bustling of the world meetings and all the noise of the creatures that resided in my home. I could easily listen to a nice, slow violin quartet through my speakers during one of these times and truly just relax.

In the hopes of doing just so, I clicked on the small icon indicating my music player and pressed play once the program loaded, sighing and listening to one of my more pleasant pieces of music. After that, I clicked on another icon, the only other one on my desktop (Which, by the way, had a photograph of Francis, Matthew, Alfred, and I standing in front of Matthew's Niagara Falls. Oh, how sentimental my old heart could be.) and waited for the program to load.

My suspicions of Alfred still being awake talking to Gilbert were proven, as a small box popped up onto my screen. Reading it aloud to myself, I smiled. "Hey, Arty! Aren't you usually sleeping by now? You old man, it's only ten."

Chuckling I replied, telling him to mind the time difference and how it was 3 in the morning. Our conversation was light and flighty, teasing each other and talking about his ever-nearing visit. Sometime around 6:00, the other declared it was his bedtime. I smiled slightly, typing out a reply. "Yes, you stupid git. It's 2 in the morning there, am I right? You should have well been off at least two hours ago!"

His sarcastic reply made me smile and I sighed, replying once more. "Well, I should be off anyway.... I've chores to do. And next time I can't sleep, don't let me keep you. Good night, sweet dreams, and see you on Saturday."

As we said our goodbyes, I smiled. Today would be a good day, I decided. Oh, if only I had known how wrong I was.

* * *

As soon as I closed the door to my home, I leaned against it and sighed. My eyes were the smallest bit closed, and I was rather exhausted. I was the smallest bit concerned because I hadn't heard from Alfred all day. Usually he called me at some point to irk the living piss out of me and we'd have a fight. Or, if he were in a bad mood, to get some comfort. It was extremely rare that I didn't get a phone call from the lad, and being that it was nearly 8 in the evening I didn't expect to get one anytime soon.

Being that I had been forced into a dinner with Francis, I wasn't hungry in the least and so I decided to see if Alfred was online. My phone was dead, anyway, and I didn't have the slightest motivation to go all the way upstairs just to get the charger. With nothing but rest in mind, I sat in one of my rather large easy chairs and booted up my computer. Once it loaded up, I clicked on the messenger to see if he was on. Disappointingly enough, the boy wasn't, and I was left to wonder.

Sighing, I logged into my art account on this rather nifty website called deviantArt. While I wasn't as good an artist as the frog or that Italian, I could draw decently and I had decided to share my work once Alfred convinced me to. Of course, and though I'd never admit this anywhere in my thoughts, I am terrible at technology and Alfred showed me how to use the website and what to do with posting up the pictures. But, I digress.

When I logged into the account, there was a polaroid that made my heart stop in its course once I clicked onto it. It was a picture of Alfred.... Yes, _Alfred_, laying on the ground unconscious with Ivan's faucet pipe against his head. Someone's jerky, scrawled handwriting across the bottom said in English, "What pretty colors, da?"

Without hardly a second thought, I grabbed a few precious things and got them ready for flight.


	3. You're Going Down!

**Chapter 2: You're Going Down!**

**Huzzah for updates! **

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The entire flight was nerve wracking, my fingers drumming along the arm of the seat as my phone sat, blinking on the charger beside me. I swallowed and bit at my lip, contemplating my thoughts on how to fix this incident. Before I had left, I checked the website anxiously for an update, translating the Russian text beneath the picture out. (This, by the way, was no easy feat.) It was Ivan, he had Alfred, and he had taken him because of a stupid comment Alfred made to Ivan about Belarus.

Honestly, the git deserved a bonk on the head for that one... everyone knows it's never a decent idea to irk Ivan. But, I digress. Before I had left my home, I had refreshed the page for an update. What I saw chilled me to the bone.

In Alfred's (admittedly sub-par sentence structuring) journal section of his page, there was a rushed message. I had read it over and over again, memorizing the text and having the small letters burn into my retinas. Now, the journal was repeating in my mind. "I don't have much time," I murmured, tracing the grain patterns in the faux wood and reciting Alfred's journal to myself. "I tipped over a cabinet of dishes and he's gone to see what the sound was."

My fingernail snagged on a splinter of the dirty arm rest, but I paid it no mind, continuing my recitation and going over it in my mind. I had to make sure I had this right, that I was making the right choice by taking the Red Eye to Russia. "And now I'm going to type this real fast, Russia showed up at my place last night and got the jump on me. He didn't beat me but he got me while I was getting ready for bed, and I couldn't see a thing without my glasses. I still can't see, actually, cause he..."

I frowned slightly, wondering why he was stupid enough to get to the computer if it was such a dire situation. "Russia... Took them- Ah, I think I hear him coming back I gotta hurry. If he catches me here, I can't imagine what he'll do with that pipe this time..."

I imagined him shuddering and I mirrored it, closing my eyes and silently thanking the fact that I was the only person on this flight. "I don't know where I am but it's pretty cold, and I was out a long time, he said, so mayb--"

The journal had cut off at that point, revealing Russian text. It had declared Alfred was a bad boy and would not go unpunished. I shuddered once more, thinking this. He also said that we would never find Alfred and that he was one with Russia now.... and how he was off to teach him a lesson. I silently urged the plane to go faster; only having been on for about half an hour but the stretch of time seeming as if it were eons.

I needed off this plane, and I needed into Russia now. I knew that the Red Eyes and the Grapevines were the fastest passenger planes in existence, but the knowledge of a guaranteed half hour more just ate at my gut. I turned on my music player to distract myself, though every song that came on simply twisted me more.

I shut it off and opted staring worriedly out the window towards where the clouds hid the bird's eye view of the earth, chewing on my lip worriedly. There was nothing I could do, but wait. Wait, and pray that Alfred could hang in there long enough for me to come and rescue him.

I could feel sweat beading on my brow as I waited impatiently, legs shaking with the need to stand up and pace, though I was securely belted into the seat and I'd be damned if I were standing with even the slightest possibility of turbulence. Human beings were not meant to fly, and I had always said so, though I tolerated planes in the direst of circumstances. And, as far as I was concerned, this was a pretty dire fucking circumstance.

It took entirely too long in my opinion for the okane to touch down in Moscow, yet it did. When I got out, the first thing I did was call Francis. Of course the bloody frog hit ignore, and I know this because it only rang once before the tosser's voicemail began to play. "Listen, Francis, I'm about to do something incredibly stupid so don't hate me. Just promise me you'll keep anyone from mobilising troops and don't fucking forget that I'm ruddy England, and nobody tops a Brit military or otherwise!"

Keeping my wits about me, I hid my phone on my person, turning it off to conserve the battery. Without a second thought, I set out to search for the former Soviet. I had already began mobilising my troops, planning ofr an all out bloody massacre. The Russian was going down, no matter what it took from me.

"Ivan!" I screamed into Moscow's chilly evening.

This meant war.

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**I apologize for the length of this chapter. The next one will be longer, but there was no way to cut it off past this point without it feeling awkward.**

**R+R appreciated.**

**~SadoMasochist  
**


	4. Confrontation 'Surrender'

Snow swirled around me and I shivered. Somehow I thought it was a bad idea now, thinking back on it, to leave without a jacket. However, I didn't care that the frigid air was cutting through me- I was burning with hatred and vengeance. The bastard would pay for messing with Alfred.

"Ivan!"

I screamed once more into the late evening air, fists clenched and fingernails digging into my palms, cutting my skin and stinging. The anger coursing through me was an intense one, one that hooked its ugly, elongated nails deep into the pit of my stomach. My mood was dark and fierce as I peered into the darkness, snow swirling around in front of me just beyond the yellow electric pools of the airport's fluorescent lights. Slowly, a silhouette came into view, scarf blowing in the wind as the person became more and more visible.

Clenching my teeth, I ground them slightly, fingernails cutting deeper and drawing blood. I was filled with hatred for the man- Alfred was and is mine, and for him to take him from me, even more so hurt him... It set me off. "Ivan."

The Russian stood, stoic, in front of me. "Arthur," he murmured in reply. "I think you have reason to be here, da?"

He tilted his head, reminding me of a dog. A sick, twisted, half-starved dog with mange. I fought the overwhelming desire to kick him (like he was one) back down to the beast growling in my core. "Let 'im go."

"No."

The simple word set me off and I flung myself at him in a tackle, a snarl falling from my chapped lips. He easily flung me aside and I growled, getting back up and lunging at him again. "Where is he? You fucking soviet bastard! Let Alfred go you sonofabitch!"

A chuckle sounded through the air at my efforts and he grabbed me, pulling me close in a painful restraint, my arms fully pinned beneath his. Flexing his arms slightly, he forced me to arch my back painfully and I gritted my teeth, squinting my eyes. There was no way that would make me give up. "Ah, but if I told you where he is, that would be no fun, Arthur."

He forced me to arch my back further and I made a small, pained sound, trying to kick out of the position blindly. "L-let me go you twat!"

This just earned me another pleased giggle and lips brushing against my ear and whispering dangerously in his native tongue, "You're funny. You think you can win?"

I growled back, kicking up and hitting a rather painful place between the legs, "I can win!"

The Russian behind me frowned, I felt his lip corner turn against my ear and shuddered slightly. "You will be punished, Arthur," he murmured, words sharp in the Russian sentences pushing their way into my ear. "Rather, Alfred will be punished. This will teach you both."

I struggled again, retorting quickly, "Don't you dare touch a hair on his bloody head or I'll--"

He talked over me, chuckling, lips tickling the skin of the ridges on my ear as I shuddered. "Ah, but his head is covered in blood already. Such a pretty color, da?"

I blinked, shock settling in slowly before the ugly, beastly rage flared up again, setting a fire in my heart deep within my chest. "I'm going to murder you!"

"Da?" He chuckled lowly, murmuring in the same low, calm voice, "No, no. You will become one with Russia. Then comrades Alfred and Arthur can be together again, da."

I gritted my teeth, kicking further up at his stomach this time. "Never going to happen!" Flailing, I felt my determination grinding in my stomach as I landed another kick to his abdomen. "Let Alfred go!"

The situation was becoming dire. I quickly came up with a plan, going limp to relieve some of the pressure on my joints as he murmured his next statement. "You do not want to be one with me and Alfred?," he asked gently, his voice lilting upwards in a soft question. "But the world will be so much better if you do. And, all will become one with me in the end. Now it's your turn, Comrade Arthur."

You must understand, I was gauging his statement and how to respond in getting to Alfred the easiest, rather than considering my own safety. I let out a hiss of air as he forced me into the position I was in before, my back cracking painfully. "I.... Dammit!" I cursed, mind whirring. If I got my troops together, I could easily beat him; though then I'd never find Alfred. Quickly thinking things through and happy I had thought of hiding my cell phone and laptop on my person, I continued, pretending to be reluctant. Oh, what an actor I was! "If... If Alfred will be happy... Then... I will become one with you."

The Russian dropped me in the snow, happily chuckling. "Excellent! I knew you were smart, Arthur. You did well in choosing to become one with Russia."

I groaned under his words, rubbing at my sore shoulders. "It's not like I had a bloody choice."

"Well," the insufferable arse replied, "People always seem to think that there is a choice." He sighed, a slightly sad look on his face. "They always seem to choose wrong." The smile reappeared quickly as it had done. "But you've eliminated a terrible mistake! This is a great step towards the great future."

I glared, huffing and crossing my arms. "So what now?"

The Russian just smiled. "Silly Arthur." His smile became menacing and I shivered slightly as he pulled a small laptop from his coat. "You make it public."

I glared, though took the computer all the same. In all my quick thinking, I hadn't counted on making my 'surrender' public. I wasn't really surrendering in the slightest- Brits never back down, least of all me! However, I had to play the part as seamlessly as possible, so I sighed and began to type in the web address for deviantArt.

He stood and watched from a few feet away, head tilted curiously. Once to the website, I immediately clicked 'edit journal' and began to type out my 'surrender' statement.

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**I can't fucking believe I'm doing this...**

****ahem** I, The Royal British Empire of England and Northern Ireland, surrender myself wholly to Russia, in form of land, property, peoples and wealth. I surrender not because I am forced, but because I am willingly giving myself over to the bloody nation. Please, do not take this the wrong way, friends and allies. I am not doing this for myself nor for Ivan, but for Alfred.**

**I trust many of you would do the same for someone you care for.**

**It's so cold. I can feel my breath freezing in the night air, and I'm shivering... God, this isn't what I wanted. This isn't what I planned for. But I've always fucking promised that I would go to bloody hell and back for those I care for, no matter the toll on myself.**

**I apologize tonight for those I've let down. I apologize tonight for not being strong enough to save Alfred from this nightmare, and I apologize mostly to my people. For now, they shall suffer a fate worse than death. I can hear the blasted thing we dare call a man approaching.**

**He is laughing, jovial even. **

**No matter what, I've always said that I'd go in front of a speeding train for my friends. And so here's that speeding train. I've always told you, Alfred, that no matter what you'd become, you'd always have me. I'd always stand beside you...**

**And so here I am, standing beside you....**

**Comrade Alfred.**

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To my surprise, the computer was wrenched from my hands. I watched wearily as he sat in the snow, typing a few small sentences.

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**As a reward for Comrade Arthur, I shall give English a try, da?**

**What he says is truth. He has become one with me, da.**

**Да здравствует Россия.**

**Станьте одним с Россией, да?**

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He handed the computer back to me and I read what he had written, hair standing up on end even more than it had from the cold. The Russian text read, 'Long live Russia. Become one with Russia, da?'


	5. Punished

**Sooooo. I'm sorry for the long wait, as I've been busy with finals (College student, and looking for a job, not a fun combination with free time. Haha.) So here's the next part of Comrade, I do hope you'll like it. Nice, juicy cliffhanger at the end to tease you all. **

**Enjoy.  
**

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Two days pass. Two long, lonely, disgustingly frozen days. I had snuck on to Ivan's computer, being held for some reason in the main house- probably as a gesture of kindness for surrendering so easily. I began to message Francis, telling him of a plan I had concocted earlier that day. I had no clue of Alfred's where-abouts, but I had every intention to finding him and pulling him out of this place. Honestly, it was stupid on my part to mention anything on such a site as public as deviantArt.

Ivan somehow hijacked the computer, announcing to the world through the comment that I was to be punished and I shuddered softly as I read the details in the encrypted Russian text. I panicked, looking for a place to hide as I thought of escape routes. Then-- either by a stroke of creativity or masochism, not sure which-- I realized this was the perfect way to find Alfred.

Alfred was, after all, being 'punished.' That meant, obviously (well, obvious to me at least), that he was being held in a holding cell either in a separate building all together or down in the bastard's basement. It wasn't long before I heard dark, thunderous footsteps on the stairs, military boots clacking against the frozen hardwood floors. It was early morning back home in London, and I hadn't much sleep lately; so I swayed the slightest bit on my feet as I tried desperately to stand my ground. I was hit with the strongest urge to run, but I remained glued to my position, legs pin-straight and strongly rooted to the floor.

The door swung open and I was met with the cold smile of Ivan himself, purple eyes colder than the snow gathering behind the windows. He was holding his faucet pipe, eyes regarding me icily. "Escape, I see? Da, you are a brash one."

He laughed slightly. The gesture did nothing but chill me further and I shuddered slightly, glaring his way. "So what if I had a plan?"

He laughed darkly, tapping his palm lightly with the faucet pipe. "Kol kol kol. Arthur, you come with me, da?"

Before I could so much as open my mouth for a snarky reply, my neck was trapped between a solid, large chest and the cold, frozen metal he was holding. My fingers instantly flew to the thing obstructing my air flow and I shuddered, clawing at the offending metal. Gasping and choking, I clawed gripped the faucet and tried desperately to pull it away from my neck, needing oxygen. The Russian paid me no mind as he dragged me away, passing Toris Lorinatis, his servant (who, in shock, dropped the tea tray he was holding). One of my hands stopped clawing at the pipe and I reached for Toris desperately, staring at him as my vision slowly grew dim.

My struggling grew weaker, hold going slack on the pipe as the need for air became too much and I leaned my head back on the bastard's shoulder, drifting into unconsciousness as my feet started making the slightest of bumps on each step of the flight he started to pull me down.

When I awoke, I was in a room on the floor, staring up at a cracked ceiling. Frowning slightly, I started to get up, wincing as a foot connected with my side. I fell straight back down to the floor, and curled as another kick connected in the same place. I bit my lip hard, refusing to scream. I wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. "Ah, Arthur, you came willingly, da?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. "Then," the fake sweetness in his voice disgusted me and as he paused, I spat at his shoes. It earned me nothing but another blow. I stayed silent. "Why are you conspiring, da? Silly England, and I was so nice, too, da?"

I remained silent, ignoring the statement and remaining curled up to protect my stomach. "Not any more. You shall be punished."

I'll spare you the details of what happened in the next few hours. However, I will enlighten you to the fact that I made not a sound; every kick and hit bouncing painfully off my skin and every loud, sickening smack that resounded did nothing to kill my resolve. However, what _did_ get to me was the mirrors on the wall of the room. The way I had curled revealed the plethora of broken mirrors on the dirty wall, and as I lay on the dry blood stains of past victims (and the fresh puddles of my own), I was forced to stare at myself in those dirty, speckled pieces of glass.

Just to annoy the Russian bastard, I did. I stared at my own reflection with loathing and grim determination, never so much as wincing away with each hit. By the time it was over, I was being dragged by my shirt (more like _his _shirt, seeing as I was in a soviet uniform) into a hallway of sorts. I blearily watched the surroundings as I was dragged, licking absentmindedly at the blood collecting on my lip from biting down too hard.

It seemed there was a collection of underground tunnels in the Soviet's basement, and I remember (though it's cloudy in my mind) wondering how long the tunnels stretched out for. It seemed as if I was dragged endlessly, wincing and silently cursing the Russian with everything I had each time my body caught painfully on the uneven floor. Oblivious to my actions, the Russian stopped in front of a door. "You are to clean your clothes. No one wants a dirty pet, da? There is work to do in the morning."

I gritted my teeth and glared up at him, spitting blood at his boots. "Bastard."

The Russian's cold eyes gauged mine, and he simply smiled- a promise of cruelty in those toxic eyes. "If you are not awake and clean by dawn, you will be punished, da?"

With that he swung a heavy door (I hadn't even realized we were next to it, really.) open and threw me inside. As soon as the door was shut, I whimpered softly, curling into a ball on the frozen floor. "Arthur...."

My heart broke at the weak voice calling my name.


	6. Come Hell Or High Water

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I'd had some difficulty getting this chapter to work. I hope you enjoy it, and sorry again for the delay.**

**---Teh SadoMasochist.**

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It was then that my resolve broke, and I let out the smallest of whimpers as I lay, bleeding, on the frozen concrete floor. It was cold, and the darkened room did nothing but make my skin contract painfully, tightening itself across my bone structure in the severe cold. I groaned slightly as I felt a small woosh of air, my cell mate dropping down beside me.

Deliriously, I laughed. I laughed at the _happiness_ in my soul, for I was happy. I had _found_ him... Truly, my own pain and discomfort was worth it? "Alfred... Alfred.... O-ohgod, Alfred, I've come.... I've come to get you _out_ of here..."

Staring up at him, my joy faded. The boy was shivering, as it was indeed cold in the cramped cell (the poor boy had been here for hours, days even, and his lips were tinged blue from the cold.) He was naked, wrapped in a blanket and holding a bloodied shirt with a red-stained toothbrush. Bruises littered his skin, a garish cut along his cheek and his pained, blue eyes off-set by his broken glasses. "Ph, Alfred...."

I tried to move off of the floor and hold him, but the slightest of movements sent pain pulling through my body. I let out a small sound as the American picked me up, his limbs feeling like glass beneath me. "P-put me down, you shouldn't be lifting me, you're hurt!"

Alfred let out a hopeless laugh, setting me down on a stone bench (suspended from the wall with rusty chains) he had obviously been trying to sleep on before I had been thrown into the room. "And you aren't? Y-you can barely move..."

I looked down at my legs, ashamed. I was supposed to be strong and unbreakable, and even long after Alfred had left my care I felt the need to show him this. Even as we loved each other, the urge to out-do the other and to protect them from everything was strong in both of us, and I knew this to be true. It was hardly a good thing to be sitting here like ducks, both of our clothes bloodstained as he sat staring at me and I sat staring at everything else. I felt weak, desperate tugging at my clothes and I looked up at the American, watching him desperately trying to take my coat as a tear slipped down his face.

"Why, Arthur?"

The simple question bore into my brain, his broken voice tearing at me, like it was _my_ fault we were here. I felt my heart sink to the floor and, as painful as it was, I leaned up to wrap my arms around him. Returning the hug, he whispered, "I..... I saw..... Your, um, thing.... On deviantArt and stuff... Th-there's a beat-up laptop.... U-under the bench.... Why did you surrender? I... You.... You're the strong one... You weren't supposed.... T-to give up....."

I winced and shook my head. "I... Alfred I couldn't leave you."

The lad sniffled, clinging to me as if I would disappear. I couldn't imagine the horrors he had gone through in the few days alone.... Sure, I had been tortured for hours, but Alfred had been here for nearly five days, no one to come back to and comfort him. I knew all too well what being alone in a torturous situation did to one's mental state. I held him close to me, fingers playing gently with the hairs on the back of his neck as I whispered small comforts to him, promising to whisk him away, back to his land of stars and stripes. We sat like that for what seemed like hours, but could have only been minutes at the most.

Suddenly, Alfred bolted back, causing a long, low whine of pain to escape my mouth at the sudden movement. His fingers once again began to desperately tug at my coat and I frowned, murmuring, "What are you doing, Alfred?"

The lad sounded breathless as he replied, my shirt finally coming unbuttoned. "L-l-let me clean it, Arthur, you're hurt worse than me, and Ivan will h-h-h-hurt you if you don't have your clothes clean, Arthur let me clean it, please, just go sleep, I d-don't want you hurt, it's almost dawn!"

His voice raised in pitch and urgency with each pause, verging on hysteria by the time he had finished talking. Looking at the American, I felt like sobbing. I'd never seen him so broken, nor so desperate. All the same, I shook my head. "You've your own clothes to clean, Alfred, let me clean mine... You've been here for longer, you're more hurt than I can possibly be..."

"N-no! P-please.... Let me be a good comrade and clean them.... P-please...."

Comrade. The word had shocked me into agreeing. Comrade.... He had called me _comrade_. My mind whirred as the coat was pulled from me, hardly registering that the other pulled his blanket off of his shoulders and wrapped it around mine (nor my cell phone rattling to the floor, safely powered off in case of 'plan B' needing to go into effect; laptop sitting in a corner of the Mirror Room), hiding a small sob as he looked at my side. _Comrade._ Just what was Ivan doing to the boy?

* * * *

I don't remember when I had fallen asleep. It must have been around three AM, sitting there and listening to the small whimpers falling from Alfred's mouth as I sat behind him, holding on to his waist tenderly and wrapping the blanket around both of us, our shivers from the cold and the pain in sync with each other. When I awoke, I was alone, my clothes folded neatly beside my head and all traces of Alfred suspiciously gone for the time being.

Remembering that my cell phone had clattered away, I gingerly stood, desperately looking around for the item to see if my lifeline had been found out. An off-kilter sigh of relief fell from my lips as I spotted the small, green and black thing half-kicked under the bench. The tiniest of laughs escaped me as I flopped to the floor, trailing off into a pained groan. I pushed the phone further from view, whispering, "I'll remember this when the time comes... What luck...."

I lay back across the floor, hair splaying in short, erratic bursts across the stone as I shuddered in the thin blanket. Too exhausted to even pull my clothes back onto my battered body, I closed my eyes, only to have them shoot open widely as screams began to echo down the hallway. "You Soviet BASTARD!"

I screamed this, covering my ears as more screams echoed down the hallway. The screams found some reserve strength in me and I stood up, quickly pulling clothes on and running (however pained) towards the door. "You sodding fucking sadistic WANKER!"

Desperate to get to Alfred, I began to shoulder the heavy wooden door, which was hardly plausible in my condition to break down. Bloody hell, I probably wouldn't even be able to break it down in full health, and yet I tried all the same. I tried until I was a useless lump on the floor. By then, the screams had faded, replaced with slow yet deliberate, heavy steps on the stone. I crawled away quickly, blanket making it difficult to do so.

The door opened and an unconscious Alfred was thrown at me, a shout leaving me as I caught him and fell back. "Be ready in ten minutes. I will be merciful because your clothes are clean, da?"

The door swung shut before I could even register anything, and I suppressed the urge to bum rush the Russian who had already disappeared from the doorway. Instead, I turned my attention to the beaten American, who lay limply in my arms. I didn't know whether to gag or to sob at the extent of his wounds, now able to see the damage perfectly in the light of day. I didn't care what happened to me, I'm old and have taken a lot of abuse through my years.... Alfred, on the other hand, was young and brash, a brat at its finest if I'd ever seen one... The way I raised him made sure of that.

I had raised him so that the pain of the world could not touch him and make him bitter like me... He couldn't handle the abuse, and my poor boy was going to break. And how my heart broke at this realization, for I loved the stupid, brash, obnoxious, irresponsible _tender_ idiot he had become.

I kissed his forehead gently, struggling to pick him up and set him on to the stone bench. No stupid Russian was going to take _my _Alfred away from me. Not again. Once Alfred was securely wrapped in the blanket, I kissed him once more and stood, steeling my nerves for what I knew was to come. If I was going down, there was no way I wasn't going down hard.... and that bastard would take me down before he broke America, over my dead body.


	7. Flipside

**A/N: FFFFINALLY AN UPDATE. **

**I can hear you shouting this from my little black hole underground xD;**

**Sorry for the long wait.... I wrote a longer chapter for compensation? Heheh... Heh.... Hehhhh.  
**

* * *

The next five days (possibly longer but I can't be sure) went much the same in the way of events playing out. Alfred would be dragged from the cell despite my efforts to cling to him (often being kicked away) as the younger would stare at me with wide eyes, begging me to help him with those haunting cerulean blues. It hurt far deeper than anything Ivan could say or do to me to see him in such a state. Somehow, I felt a dark pit of something deep within, telling me that I was a failure and that I should somehow just give in.

Normally, Ivan gave us a half-loaf of bread for the day coupled with a warm mug to melt the snow that drifted in from the small, barred window near the top of our room. Within the past week, Alfred had slowly become more and more reserved with me, and our conversation become increasingly minimal. My mind has been whirring, my body increasingly jumpy with every sound and cringing when seeing a hand near. The past two days there has only been crusts left of bread, Alfred refusing to give me anything less than half of his.

Out of either pity, or selfishness, possibly both, I had taken the crusts for myself. Please understand that I do not focus on food for a want of the stuff; but because something has happened that both astounds and terrifies me. As I said, the past days Alfred had become increasingly quiet and unresponsive. His eyes had quite possibly become duller from behind his broken glasses and his ever-present cocky grin was no longer even in existence. The sunny, positive countenance he had once held had long since broken, and he hid himself further and further in his head and away from me.

The previous day (Or was it today? Oh, how my mind fogs…), I had pulled him close to me and kissed him out of desperation. He slowly blinked and a shadow of him returned, kissing back ever so lightly and breathing my name. "Why…?"

I felt my heart sink into my stomach as I murmured, "To find you…"

It was entirely disheartening to see him so far gone. The response I had gotten was a simple blink as he turned away, leaving me to brood alone on the left side of the stone bench. Loud, slow and deliberate footfalls echoed through the hallways and I had closed my eyes, praying (for the first time in centuries) for Ivan to have mercy. Trembles ran down my spine and showed in my extremities as the footfalls stopped in front of the heavy oak door, the sound of a padlock being unlatched echoing all too dismally through the darkened room. Slowly, the door had swung open and I pulled our blanket further around me as the massive silhouette of the Russian holding us captive came into view, beckoning slowly.

I watched as Alfred stood willingly, limping towards the hulking figure in the doorway as he looked almost hopefully up at him. Slowly the Russian put his hands forward, holding what appeared to be a potato soup in his hands. My mouth fell open in astonishment as he offered it to Alfred whom had promptly fallen to his knees, a smile stretched widely across his bruised face. "Comrade… Th-thank you, Comrade…"

I cringed at the word before looking away, knowing the soup was only meant for the American. It astonished me, yet somehow I knew that it was all part of Ivan's tricks… After all, the younger had been there for a few days longer than I and wasn't seasoned to this treatment in the slightest, proving much easier to break than I ever could. It had been weeks that we had weathered the storm, and while I had yet to shipwreck, it was hardly the case for my former charge.

It could easily be seen that the American had been thrown so deep into his head to avoid the pain that he had actually begun to care for our captor, and that thought terrified me more than anything I ever had faced or most likely ever will. It made me tremble as I sat leaning against the chains, staring listlessly at the scene unfolding as if in a trance. The only thing that broke me out of it was the cold voice of the Russian hitting my ears with a malevolent undertone, his voice carrying my name across the room. "Arthur…."

I glared up, face twisting into the darkest grimace I could muster. He simply smiled, a cruel gesture to the chill that sent shivers through my frozen body. "Be ready in ten minutes."

With that, the heavy door swung closed, and the quiet slurps coming from Alfred mingled and flirted with the heavy footfalls of military boots slowly fading away. Shortly after the footfalls could no longer be heard, Alfred stood and skittered over to me, offering the bowl. As tempting as it was, I shook my head. "It's yours, enjoy it…"

Alfred shook his head before looking at the door nervously, murmuring in a slightly broken way, "Please…. Take it…. You need it, comrade… I could… Get in trouble for…"

Sighing at his obvious distress, I took the bowl against my better judgment. "You're a saint, Alfred Jones."

He sighed softly, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. Desperate to hold on to the conversation, I cleared my throat and offered a bit of the blanket, noticing the lack of shuddering and yet all the same I asked, "Aren't you cold?"

He shrugged in response, studying his fingernails. "Don't realize it, really…"

I blinked slowly, looking down at the soup before resigning my determination and drinking the warm broth. I closed my eyes as I drank, reveling in the pleasure the first warm meal I'd had in at least a month had brought me. The little bit of soup calmed my turbulent stomach and distracted me from Alfred's odd behaviour, sending tingling warmth through my bones and heating my frozen limbs. I drank from the bowl until there was not a drop left, whimpering as I licked a bit at the bottom of the bowl. I silently cursed myself for becoming so depraved as the bowl was quickly wrenched from my hands.

I hadn't noticed the military boots echoing down the hall in my savoring of the soup, and shortly after Alfred had taken the bowl (pretending to tip it back and finish it desperately) the oak door had swung open and Ivan's silhouette re-appeared. "Comrade Arthur…"

I stood and limped over willingly, pushing past him with a grunt and walking down the hallway. I would never give him the satisfaction of dragging me, especially as my legs still worked.

***

As I lay on the floor, the darkened room seemed almost a comfort. I was faced away from the mirrors and Ivan had finished 'toying' with me, as one could put it. Maybe out of some twisted form of kindness, he was keeping me here as he stared at the blood spatters on the concrete, and similarly I felt a twisted form of gratitude as I reveled in the warmth of the Mirror Room. Somehow I hated myself for sinking so low.

We had been here for an hour without any movement, other than the occasional scuffle of military boots against the floor. He stood and muttered "Get up."

Obliging for once, I struggled to my feet and he smiled cruelly at every wince that contorted my face. "Still want to walk, da?"

I glared, crossing my arms across my chest and wincing as it caused a fire to spread through my chest. "Naturally."

It made him laugh, his hulking figure standing up before opening the door. "Then, walk."

Now, understand that escape was very possible at this point. He was tempting me with it, dangling it in front of my face much like holding sweets in front of a child's nose. Gritting my teeth, I pushed past him and limped a few feet, panting and holding in my pained groans as I did so. It wounded my pride so much more that the stairs were in front of me and yet, there was no possible way I could leave Alfred behind- and the Russian bastard knew it.

Slowly I walked, leaning against the wall every few feet and ignoring the dark chuckles behind me, laughing every time I stumbled or closed my eyes. I would not give up. I would not cave in, at least not until I was out of his sights. It didn't help that my lungs were alight in my chest with the effort to not make sounds at every movement coupled with the pain of having my chest stomped a few times under those heavy, black boots. It felt like ages that I had taken with every step, frowning a bit with every weakness I showed and every falter in my stoic appearance. I was the British fucking Empire and I didn't _show _weakness.

The walk back to the holding cell was long, slow, and torturous. It felt like hours that I had been walking down that cold, stone-paved floor, though I knew it must not have been more than twenty minutes. By the time we had gotten to the oak door and he swung the accursed thing open, I barely had any strength to stand. His eyes were already focused on Alfred as I was pushed inside the door, not bothering to catch myself as I stumbled. Alfred stood, stepping quietly around me as if I were a loose stone in the floor.

The pangs in my heart at that action hurt far worse than the physical pangs from my chest. It was little known to me that I would not see him again for a long while, even as the oak door closed I had not the faintest inkling going through my exhausted, tired mind. My breaths were in short gasps and somehow, I felt as if I couldn't move. It hurt too much, and I was too far gone, to do much more than lay and pant in the middle of the frozen stone floor.

I lay there for two, maybe three hours, staring at the flecks of snow drifting in through the bar windows as I wheezed, finding it incredibly difficult to breathe. Eventually I had found the strength in myself to crawl over to the stone bench, leaning against the wall and staring at the one opposite me in the semi-darkness. Waves danced in front of my eyes as I fought sleep, because I feared that if I allowed the bittersweet dark to claim me I wouldn't wake.

With stunning resilience, a thought struck me hard in the frontal lobe as I blinked at the idea. The mobile, beneath the bench- I had forgotten I had hid it there and then still that I had the lifeline in the first place. It made my heart soar in hope, and I leaned forward (wheezing in pain as I did so), grabbing the small green and black machine and desperately fumbling with it to turn it on.

Nothing was on my mind other than calling my one and only lifeline- because I couldn't lose hope in this situation. I knew that, if I did, I would be good as dead (let alone Alfred, and I could not let that happen). Taking a shuddery breath, I punched in the numbers and prayed for an answer.


	8. Lifeline

**Suuuuuper long update for you guys! Sorry it took so long, I've been so busy!**  


* * *

I don't think in all my life I had been more desperate to hear the click of someone answering on the other line than I had at that moment. Despite all my talk of never giving in or resigning hope, I was _tired_ and without even realizing it I had reached my breaking point. All the things running through my mind convinced me to give in to the temptation, despite the dire need to save the battery and knowing full well that calling someone would waste it. However, holding that small, heavenly machine in my hand reminded me just how far the need for a comforting, familiar voice could stretch, and I allowed myself to finally be weak, listening to the rings.

It wasn't until the third ring that the phone was picked up, and I could hear the hesitance in the voice coming from the other end. "_Hallo…? Arthur…. Or…?_"

I closed my eyes, a small smile breaking on to my face for the first time in ages. The deep, smooth, accented voice filled me with pleased warmth that I hadn't expected in the least, and I let out a wheezing yet grateful chuckle. How I had taken that voice for granted, I won't ever remember…. "I-It's me…"

"_Kirkland_," came the reply, his voice a bit hopeful. "_If… You are calling, then… You are…_?"

I blinked, my eyes fluttering back open as I reached up and pulled the blanket off of the stone bench with one hand, shuddering as I wrapped it around my body. The need to cry was overwhelming, but I held it in, whispering softly (partially past the lump in my throat and partially with how difficult it was to breathe), "Fr-Francis… I'm okay…. Buh-banged up a bit…"

A small, bitter laugh clawed itself through the wreckage of my throat, sounding more like a raspy bark than anything. "But okay."

I cleared my throat, wincing. So much pain… So, so much pain… All the same, I had no idea how much time I had before Ivan came back and, letting my guard down enough to call Francis… Hell, even hearing his voice… It may have been a bad idea, because by letting go of the grim stubbornness I held for so long had forced me into a panicky state… Like the one I had been noticing in myself through the flinching away from Alfred's touch or the jittery nature of my movements, though tenfold. I forced myself to hiss out a warning. "Li-listen…" I shuddered, a million possible outcomes flashing through my mind as I spoke. A small, questioning hum sounded over the line along with the sound of footsteps, and I fancied him pacing as I once more began to talk. "I m-may have called you, but…"

I shivered once more, almost dropping the phone as I muttered, "Bloody hell, it's cold," and, re-situating the phone, continued the warning. "But don't fucking call me… I-If my phone goes off and I-Ivan's in here…"

I trailed off; knowing we both knew what I was getting at. He responded slowly, the grimace on his face clear in his voice. You only need know someone for so long before you can read them as a favourite novel and, well, Francis was one of those people for me. We may have been and still are rivals, but always we have been brothers first and foremost (not by blood, no, and both of us were eager to point this out, but brothers all the same.) and if anyone knew how to keep me hanging on, it was he. But, I digress. The words that travelled through the line were tense, worried, and saddened. Instantly I felt the urge to comfort him, but waited for him to finish speaking. "_M-Mon frère… I can hardly hear you as it is… You do not sound as well as you let on…_"

He paused for a moment, a loud intake of breath sounding over the phone as if he had realized something. "_Be certain to clear your call history after this call, Arthur._" Francis' voice was urgent as he spoke. "_I would not put it past Ivan to confiscate your mobile."_

I assured him that I would, his concern and urgency getting to me in my vulnerable state. The tears I had been holding back slowly began their course down my ruddy and filth-covered cheeks, a small sniffle sound from me before I could stop the damned thing. "I-I'm okay… Just a bit winded… Wanker stomped on my chest… Wh-when I wouldn't scream."

I coughed with the effort of talking, thinking back to when I had willingly come here. So much was my courage and valor, a hero complex rivaling Alfred's shining from me like the gleam of light off of polished chainmail and armor. It almost hurt worse than the wheezing breaths forcing their way from my chest, realizing how far gone my pride was. "B-but enough of that," I said quickly, changing the subject as I always did when something bothered me. "How are you?"

A small, uncomfortable laugh came through the phone. He knew I was trying to keep up my proper British gentleman normalcy_ shite,_ and I knew he wouldn't follow it. Still, I tried. "_Good… F-for that, though... I am proud to call you __mon__ frère._"

He paused for a moment, his voice becoming a bit gentler even as it shook with restraint. "_I am in much better condition than you quite obviously. Et… Alfred… What has happened to the poor boy?_"

Alfred. The reminder of my boy forced my guard even lower and I let out a tired sob. "Oh, Francis… I d-don't know, I… I… Oh, dear…"

Francis, as I knew he would, caught on to my distress and sighed softly. I wondered what my temporary breakdown was doing to him… What was going on in his pretty, pampered head? "_I… See… Kirkland… Arthur, you need to bring him back…_"

I could hear the hesitance of his voice. He paused for a long while, which did nothing but further my panic. In my mounting hysteria I could feel my breath shorten even more and I began to hyperventilate, my chest aching and my eyes beginning to shed tears in a faster rate. "_You… are unfortunately the only one who can do it… If I were there… Mon __Dieu__… I would no doubt have broken long ago…"_

My response came quick, shallow and rushed, my mind whirring as I barely realized what I was saying. The small, detached part of me screamed for me to calm, but I ignored the desperate plea and whined as I gasped for air. "I h-haven't broken… I h-haven't even screamed yet…"

I shuddered, thinking back on the day's events. My whole body ached, and I was so mentally drained… So far away from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland that I had been… I was so weak; so bloody disgustingly weak. I could feel myself unraveling quickly, throwing my carefully built guards and defenses to the side the longer I spoke to him. It was disconcerting to know that such defenses could be so easily penetrated… "F-Francis," I admitted softly, trying to calm my breathing, "Francis I'm scared… H-he… Alfred… He's started calling me Comrade… S-stopped speaking… He's… He's thanked Ivan today… I… Oh, god…"

The little control I had gained over my breathing went away, leaving me to hyperventilate painfully as my vision swam and I tried desperately to keep my sobs inside. Speaking of Alfred's condition made it more real; drove it deep into my heart because by telling Francis, I was admitting it, and by admitting it I was inherently admitting my own failure. I focused on Francis' voice, using that as my rock. "_M-mon __Dieu__… That… Poor boy…"_

His voice was concerned, and I could only imagine what he thought of me at this point… We had once fought for 100 years, me winning almost every single time, and I had gone from that brutish, pig-headed, _strong_ lad to sobbing to him over the phone. The shame I felt knew no bounds. "_Arthur… I am afraid for you… If… If Alfred is that far gone, you may… have to abandon him temporarily…"_

There was a slight pause, but what he had said next went over my head. I could never abandon Alfred. The thought made my heart sink and a quiet sob finally wrenched free of the lump in my throat; the straw that broke the camel's back. "I can't leave him…"

My voice was hoarse and brittle, cracking along with my dignity and pride. "The plan can't go into effect until… Until I can get him back…"

More tired and small sobs fell from my lips as I wheezed, quiet except for those sounds. I felt like so much filth, lying on that stone floor with nothing but rags and a blanket covering my battered body. "I-I apologize… I kn-know you hate me… for… this. Me wh-whining is probably… the last thing you want to hear…"

I choked on my words, continuing to let out those small, pained sobbing sounds. It was quiet for a moment, the only sounds either bouncing from the walls and made by quiet, pacing footsteps sounding over the earpiece or myself. "_That…_"

A small, hurt and frustrated huff came through, interrupting his pause, and I winced. _Don't hang up on me, Francis; I need you,_ I thought desperately as I listened to that exasperated sound. _I need you to help me pull through this thing._ I relaxed (if only a fraction) when his voice came in a low murmur. "_Non… Mon frère… I can… appreciate one who fights against his oppressors for __l'amour__. _"

His words somehow made everything ground and sink in; everything I had worked so hard to forget was happening and to leave in the dust of that mirrored room… My crying, sniveling, and sobbing grew slightly louder in my distress, and I admitted something that, had I been in the right state of mind, would never have left my lips. "God... I never thought I'd… S-say this… But I… I bl-bloody miss you… You stupid fucking frog…"

A shallow, dry laugh sounded over the phone; a sound of disbelief and grief. "_I am lost without my daily bothering of you, mon frère."_

His voice lowered, sounding nearly as strained as I fancied mine to be. "_Don't cry, Arthur, don't cry…"_

Pulling the blankets closer around me as I shivered, I wiggled further back against the wall; sniffling miserably and returning the request with my own dry whisper. The sound of my tortured voice vaguely brought the sight of a cemetery in the autumn to mind, the picture of dead leaves rustling against gravestones in the wind burned into my inner eye. "God, Francis… I've… I've n-ever felt so we-weak… Not even… Not even then."

Visions of Alfred standing tall in a red, white and blue coat mixed with the cemetery and blurred together, the distant memory of musket fire and pain nearly stopping my breath. My worst memory was not nearly so bad as the present… I was interrupted from my reverie as that smooth, sultry voice cut through my thoughts once more. Damn that voice. Damn it to hell, and damn him too. Damn everything. Damn it all and just let me die… "_Non, Kirkland. Do not think about then. You are not weak, mon frère. Torture is meant to do this. Please…"_

His voice was strong and resolute, a slightly desperate edge to it. "_You are stronger than you think… To not scream.... After only God know what has been done to you… Non… Non. To go voluntarily… It is beyond brave."_

Another weak and hopeless sob fell from my lips and I dimly wondered if I sounded as hopeless and pathetic as I felt; a large and sudden burst of shame eating into my core. "I-I…"

I desperately tried to get my mind to stop whirring, to maybe make some sense and to hold on to the logic I treasured so much in myself. I was tactical, not emotional… "I apologize, c-calling you up like this…"

"_D-do not apologize for something like that! __Mon Dieu__!"_

I could hear his shaking breaths, and his murmured apology also hit my ears but secretly I was thankful for the sudden outburst. It woke me up a bit and I slowly began to once more calm myself, wiping at my bloodshot eyes. "N-no… I know, Francis…"

A heavy silence fell between us for a few moments, silence swallowing any words that yearned to be said. A scream echoed through the hallway and I snapped once more. "I'll bloody kill that fucking wanker!"

The words echoed off of the stonewalls, but I couldn't remember saying them even as I began to try and stand and once more beat at the heavy oak door. Scared pleading came through the phone but I couldn't tell you what was said as I fell back to the floor. "He's screaming--!"

Loud sobs came from me, jarring my broken body and forcing me to curl into a ball. It hurt so much, hearing those screams, and I couldn't do anything to stop them. My boy, my sweet, dear lad, was hurting and it was my fault for being so weak as to not be able to whisk him away as I had promised. A twisted mantra echoes both around my head and around the room as I repeated what I felt. "Take me instead…. Wh-why… why can't he… Take me instead… Leave Alfred alone… T-take me... Take me…"

The Frenchman (amazingly having not hung up on me yet, I thought—how the oddest things echo through your mind when the small detached part of yourself watches the rest of you shut down.) murmured soft, comforting things to me, and while I could not tell you what was said, his voice was an anchor and I held onto it for dear life. "Please… K-keep talking…"

I am sure this was just as hard for him as it was I, but he showed fortitude I could not at this point. He spoke, his voice gradually getting a bit frantic and panicked by the end of his small speech. All the same, the words calmed me a bit- his praise so ludicrous coming from him that it made me calm as I listened. "_Euh… When in times of such… euh… Tragedy… We sing to raise moral, non? Ah… Distract yourself from the nightmare you are in. Mon frère… I have faith that your love will bring Alfred back. Don't give Ivan the pleasure of winning. I know you can do this. Long live King Arthur, non!?"_

His last words even went so far as to wrench a small laugh from my raw and bleeding throat. "L-long live King Arthur? Oh, my ego."

The attempt was weak, but I was trying to sound as I used to before this hell had began. "_Oui! Long live King Arthur! You earned such a title! And rightly place your ego highly! Mon frère, you are bloody fucking England. Bloody fucking Great Britain! Some Russian tosser could never kill you. I have faith, Lord Kirkland."_

I held the phone so hard my hand was beginning to go numb. The British slang rolling off of his tongue in that accent was odd and hardly expected, but comforting. _Francis, you goddamned frog, you're amazing. I'm glad to call you my brother. God, you do too much for me…Thank you, Francis, thank you so much…_ "Indeed, this Russian nancy doesn't have shit on me! Yes, yes, I'm so much stronger than this! After all, I was a bleeding pirate!"

We both knew my words were false confidence; simply talking of past achievements to try and remember what a fighting spirit was. "_Ou-Oui. Oui… Oui. A b-bloody pirate to the core."_

I could feel a shadow of confidence returning to me and I held on to it desperately, my tears stopping as I responded. "No one messes with the royal fucking British Empire."

The air fell silent and I listened to his breathing, eyes fluttering open as I pulled the blanket closer. My body shivered violently, the small window at the top of the cell saying whispers of the night. "Francis…"

His voice was soft and soothing as he answered, and it brought a smile to my face. "_Oui… Mon roi… My King… I am still here._"

"You do too much for me…"

Francis, as I had stated, was a good friend and a brother as much as he was my rival. There is no England without France around to piss him off, Ireland had said to me once. There could not have been a truer statement ever uttered. He jokingly, and… well, characteristically even… asked me for something inappropriate to repeat. I shook my head, laughing a bit. The sound was odd, having not heard or uttered even a chuckle in… Days? Months? Years? I didn't know anymore. "Even if you were serious, there's nothing sexy about shivering in a Soviet jacket whilst wrapped in a wool blanket."

We went back and forth with small comments, until he paused and murmured, "_Everything will be made right again…"_

"I certainly hope you're right, frog…"

I smiled slightly, remembering a happier time not so long ago. I had gotten drunk and Francis was hanging around, and he had found me pissed. So, he did what any frog would do- Threw me into the shower at a freezing cold temperature and then brought me to my bedroom, hugging me to keep me warm after helping me change out of my sopping wet clothes. "God… Remember… That time I got drunk… And you threw me in the shower? And then Alfred found us on the bed?"

I closed my eyes, remembering how Alfred had kissed me. He was insanely jealous, even though it was apparent that nothing had happened… The damned frog was just being a good brother again. My eyes began to sting once more. "You laughed at me all night until you fell asleep… Because I kept complaining I was hot…"

I could feel myself relaxing, though I felt even sorer from my muscles having been tense for so long. "H-how long ago was that?"

"_Mon roi… That was not long ago… It… Must have been under a month."_

Well, I'll be damned. I sighed softly, replying, "It feels like years…"

"_Mon Dieu… D__é__sol__é__."_

A quiet yawn tumbled from my lips and I murmured what we both knew, to which he replied with something sweet. For a while we talked like old friends but, as we all know, all good things must come to an end. Footsteps began to echo down the corridor, but there was no sound of dragging or another pair of feet… And so my stomach turned in knots and my muscles tensed once more. "He's coming for me, Francis. I have to go now."

"_I… I'm sorry, mon frère. I love you, little brother. Don't get caught… Call me whenever you can."_

I assured him that I would and hung up quickly, turning off the phone and chucking it under the stone bench as I waited for my fate to show in the door. Resolve strengthened, I was ready to take on anything… Especially that Russian and his bloody pipe. I vowed to give him hell for hurting Alfred and would risk anything to hurt Ivan… Even my life.

The door swung open to reveal the bulky silhouette.


	9. Should've Left When I Could've

A snarl made its way across my face as I stared towards the hulking shape in the doorway. My eyes squinted as I tried to see him and any sign of Alfred in the doorway, but when the hulking shape moved forward I shrank back in surprise. There was not one, but two bodies standing there in the cell, Alfred wearing a new coat matching Ivan's. Wordlessly, the taller of the two gave a cock of his head. He would not be disobeyed, it seemed.

A calm washed over me, a feeling that spoke distinctly of the end. I don't know what caused it or why—but I suppose it was my last stand against the Russian. After today, I would have no fight left to disobey him. When I did not stand, the Russian smiled childishly, seeming pleased rather than upset or angered. With a small prod to Alfred's shoulder with his pipe, Ivan's eyes focused on me; his sadistic promises of pain shown like diamonds through the purple spheres.

Alfred, on the other hand, stared straight ahead with vacant, listless eyes. His face was expressionless, and it seemed as if the American didn't even recognize me as he kneeled before me, pulling me off of the floor and dropping me onto his shoulder. "A-Alfred," I murmured before I could stop myself. I gathered up the most heated glare I could muster in my weakened state and demanded hoarsely, "Dammit, what the bloody hell did you do…?"

Alfred and Ivan both said nothing, the former standing and eying the Russian with the smallest of glimmers in his eyes as he apparently waited for an order. A feeling of absolute dread and terror filled me, and I shifted weakly as Alfred began to walk. "Nuh… No…. No, no, no Alfred… Alfred wh-what are you doing…?"

I could barely form the sentences in my mind, feeling my eyes widen as I realized my fate. This could not be happening… "Alfred," I cried desperately, beating my fists on his back. "Alfred, wake up! God dammit! Alfred!"

My voice echoed back to me as the taller blonde stared at his comrade-- for indeed, my Alfred had left me, and I was alone with strangers and enemies in this godforsaken cell. My hands continued to beat at his back, trying desperately to get him to release me. I didn't want to find out what would happen to me if Alfred and Ivan brought me back to the mirrors. The laugh that fell from Ivan's lips was light and bubbly, with a sinister undertone. It was clear that the Russian was absolutely delighted that he finally had his comrade under his thumb. Using the pipe, he pushed the door and held it open for Alfred. I beat harder, squirming to get away even as I knew I couldn't run away this time. A small-pleased sound came from Alfred as he walked out of the door; uttering the first words I had heard him utter in days. And yet, they brought no comfort. "Soon… Comrade Arthur… Will not be alone…"

The words froze me, knowing I was far too weak to wiggle from his tight hold. Looking around for an escape, my eyes focused on Ivan's face. With a raw hostility that shocked even me, I snarled and scowled towards the Russian. "I'm going to bloody kill you, you fucking bastard. Mark my words, this isn't over yet."

With renewed vigour I began to kick and flail at the body holding me. In my desperation I had barely noticed the lidding of violet eyes and the malicious smile sent my way, promising me a world of horror. Slow, off-kilter notes began to fill the air, and I recognized it as Alfred's national anthem. The normal patriotism was gone, and the notes sounded rather eerie and hollow. If possible, the sound of his humming set me into an even more terrified state, but I forced the fear down, settling for a comfortably numb haze. All I could was sit there, blood rushing to my head and face throbbing weakly, to see what the show bring. In a last ditch effort to rebel against Ivan, I swallowed a few times, generating a little bit of spit from my parched mouth and hocking it Ivan's way.

A dark and poisonous glare pierced me as the gob of spit landed on his scarf, the end of his faucet pipe pressing into the underside of my chin and forcing eye contact. I glared back defiantly, though the glare I received faded and was replaced with the former all-too-knowing look that chilled me to the core. The humming that had been echoing through the corridor stopped abruptly as Alfred let out a hollow laugh, followed by a pleased sigh as he soaked in the warmth of the mirrored room. I can't help the sigh of relief that escapes me as well, a cold I didn't know they held seeping from my frozen bones. I hated myself for the sound. My chin ached from the cold of the faucet pipe, only strengthening the deeply set throbbing of my face. Some small part of me was still struggling to surface, refusing to give up and die.

_Why is Alfred here?_ The thought echoes through my mind as I am thrown unceremoniously to the floor. I can't help the wince. _Why is it him that is doing these things? Is this a test?_ I propped myself up, glaring at the two defiantly. There was no hope left in my mind, nothing that could keep me pushing forward other than the grim determination to get Alfred out of here. If.... When..... He wakes up, he'll hold such regret. A small, bark-like sound of a scoff escapes my throat and, as always, I fake the confidence that I've become so good at exuding; arms crossing against my chest. The bloody bastard may have broken me in body plenty of times over, but he'll never do it in mind- at least, not without extreme situations. ..._Which,_ I thought as my heart sank (though my glare never wavered), _This is fast turning into_...

A small hum of approval left the Russian, low and pleased as he stepped forward to stand beside the American. He sent that same disconcerting smile my way and I suppressed a shudder at his words. "Soon, Comrade Arthur, everything will be good again, da?"

With that, the Russian held the pipe over to the American. With barely a moment's hesitation, Alfred accepted the pipe into his hands. I watched, horror firing down my nerves in cloying little bursts of sparks. Somehow I managed not to shake or shy away, eying Alfred guardedly as he took the pipe. It wasn't until Ivan backed into a corner that I realized what the pipe passing truly meant.

I crawled away slowly, my back hitting the mirrors (_The glass oh god the glass is broken_) as I glared up defiantly at my former colony and spoke with a level voice. "Alfred."

My voice caught in my throat, but I swallowed past the knot, glaring up at Alfred with all the hatred, betrayal, and fear that I felt. "Don't do this."

I received nothing in return; save for a small smile that stretched into a manic, desperately happy grin. His pearly whites taunted me as he ever so slowly dragged a digit down the length of the pipe, caressing it like one would a lover. I felt my throat constrict as I strengthened my glare, pressing further against the mirrors and almost finding comfort in the feel of the mini shards cutting into my back as he slowly advanced.

The only thing I knew is that this was going to _hurt._

"Alfred... Open your fucking eyes. Look at whom you're bloody threatening with that pipe. It's not.... It's not too late."

I don't think in all my years past these events will the smile stretched over that beautiful, bruised face ever fade… It still haunts my dreams, even as I wake up, screaming and panting as I remember the events to come.


	10. Coming Undone

**This chapter was incredibly hard for me to write. I was crying through half of it.**

**I hope you all enjoy.**

**- Teh SadoMasochist.  
**

* * *

Alfred's face was stretched into that grin almost as if someone had frozen his face into that position, his hand swinging that pipe down onto my head with a surprisingly strong force behind it and making me fall away from the mirrors with a sickening crack of metal on bone. I can feel the white-hot throb of pain pulsing through me, the wet stickiness of blood slowly dripping from a wound created by that metal pipe and glomming my hair into matted, darkened clumps. He swings the pipe again and again and again, onto my head and back. I feel my nose break for the third time since entering Russia and I can feel the blood coming from my nose and head in small rivulets, but the white-hot needles of pain don't register in my mind as I watch the substance stain his black boots with red.

It's so cold. So much pain courses through my body, leaving me to twitch and shudder on the concrete floor of the windowless room. Fatigue eats at my sanity and all I can muster up the strength to do is curl into a foetal position, hiding my face. _Please, no more blows to the face..._ There are no words for the betrayal, anger, and hurt I feel right now. But even more so than the pain, and the emotions flowing from my subconscious like the blood from my open wounds, is the imminent crushing blow of failure. The sinking anchor of intense shortcomings is what keeps me in position, even more so than the pain and the fatigue and the heaviness of my limbs. "D-dammit!"

The expletive runs raw from my throat, voice hoarse and cracking from the abuse that it's suffered- the abuse that I've suffered. Normally, I'd sit here stoically; bravely taking any and every blow while my teeth tear at the flesh of my lip, keeping any sound behind the pearly enamel of my teeth. It wouldn't do to amuse the bloody Russian bastard. He's been trying to break me for... How long has it been? Days? Weeks? Years? Decades? I've lost track of time.

I've bravely and stubbornly held onto my sanity, all but desperately clinging to the idea of whisking Alfred away from this dark, macabre place. How the Soviet wanker did it, I don't know, but his new "weapon" broke me in two- for the very boy I'd sworn I'd go to hell and back for, was the very cause of my excruciating pain. The energy to even cry out dies in me as, once more, Alfred's steel-toed boots connect with my ribs, my head thrown back and mouth open in a silent, tortured scream, eyes screwed shut. I can hear the groans and protests of my bones, feel the white-hot needles of stabbing pain through me as the cracking runs all the way up my body, resounding in my core.

The will to fight is all but gone... Decimated, as soon as my eyes connect with those damned baby blues.

I can't hurt him.

I could still hear myself screaming, unable to hold the sounds back. Not for Alfred. I vaguely realized just how much his blows were taking out of me, and my mind and body were beginning to disconnect and become different things. I reached for his boots even as the pipe crashed down upon me again, the numbness falling away from me and subjecting me to the deepest pain I had felt in centuries. More screams ripped from my lungs with every blow to my face. _I'm going to die_, I thought. _I'm going to die in this wretched place. And I won't revive… Not being in Russia… No one will bring me back to England and my country will dissolve…_

With that thought running through my mind, I fell completely silent. The blows peppering my skin didn't receive any screams, and the sound of hardly disguised laughing echoed through the room from my attacker; one I had loved with all of my heart since I had found him. I had always fought and gotten up and stayed quiet. I had always stoically sat and taken the blows out of a drive to be defiant and strong, but that strength was gone. I could feel the way the blood soaked my clothes and I could feel the way my body ached, but I was detached from myself. I was watching myself from a different point in the room. My entire life was running through my mind's eye as I slowly lost every coherent thought.

I could feel one last connection of the pipe to the back of my head. Tears ran from my eyes in pink-tinged rivulets. Boneless, I rolled onto my back. My eyes were stinging and vision tinged pink with the blood running into my eyes, but I could care less. The most curious sound was echoing through the room; a small, childish giggle that my fuzzy mind pondered the source of. It was different than the giggles Alfred had been emitting. The small disjointed giggles slowly crescendo into full blown cackling, the sound menacing. I wanted to plead for it to stop, gasping for air and arching my back whilst emitting breathless cries and… and laughter. _I_ was the one making the hellish sounds. _I was the one making those hellish sounds…_

Cackles and cries were spewing from my lips as I fell to pieces, my mind hardly registering the fact that my body was now rocking from side to side. Eventually, I tipped to the right and all I could do was stare at the bloody, happy boy in the mirrors, cackling and crying and looking so, _so_ broken…. The mirrors…. Th-the mirrors….

Due to Arthur still recovering from the stress and trauma of the situation, he asked me to step into this little memoir to continue writing this part in his place. He tells me he can't remember much of the times, and so I'll be going on with my own version of what had happened. You must understand, that as America I had not gone through nearly as much as Arthur had. Being barely 250 years old and hardly living through any of the tougher times that Europe had seen, I am the land of opportunity and optimism. I had never been tortured. I had never been hurt in the ways Arthur and I were being hurt. I had, essentially, foolishly and senselessly holed up inside my own head. Whatever Ivan wanted, Ivan got; it was the only way I could think of to stop the pipe from connecting with my skin. Thinking back on it….

Thinking back on that moment, watching Arthur roll around on the floor as he laughed, I felt an off sense of euphoria. He was one of us now- a Comrade. I had mistaken the desperate and thankless sound for happiness, and that 'happiness' was utterly infectious. Giggles bubbled up from my own gullet as Arthur's loud barks of sound grew in volume. I had turned to stare at the point where Ivan had been standing, but as I did so the laughter coming from me instantly stopped. The corner my Comrade had been standing in was utterly empty, the door closed. My breath hitched and my grip on the pipe slackened, though neither of us made any moves whatsoever at the sound of metal clattering against concrete.

_Where was Ivan?_ That was the first thought that hit my mind. _I did exactly as he asked! I did exactly as he wanted and he's not even here to tell me I did well! _ Ivan had promised me the world, telling me that if I had done as he said today I would be rewarded like no other time. I could feel my heart racing, my chest heaving with shallow breaths as I began to feel an uncomfortable panic wash over me. "No, no, no… No, no, no, no…."

I chanted the word almost as if it were a mantra as my feet moved of their own accord towards the heavy wooden door. I wrapped my fingers around the rusted iron bar attached to the weighted oak and pulled with all my might, but the sound of a chain and padlock rattled from the other side. If possible, my heart sank to the floor and the panic set deeper into my bones, much like as if a thin blanket made of ice was wrapped around me. Harder and harder I yanked, trying my best until I could feel my shoulders groaning in defiance and all the blood drain from the capillaries in my hands as my knuckles turned white. Arthur's laughing grew louder still as I pulled and I lost it, screaming at the door as I tried even harder to open the damned thing. "I did what you said! I was a good boy! I did what you said! Why did you lock me in? Why? I did good! Why am I being punished? I did good! I did good!"

I screamed until my voice was hoarse and tears were pouring down my cheeks in rivulets. The laughing grew louder and more deranged. "Oh, darling, you silly fucking pet! He's left you! He's left you and he'll never come back!"

Disbelief resounded through me and I pulled at the door again. "You're lying! Comrade wouldn't leave me!"

Arthur was lying, I could have sworn on that idea. Arthur was lying because my Comrade told me I would be rewarded for my good behaviour. Why would he abandon me and lock me away? For a moment, the world went silent and I could feel my eyes widen. In the reflection from the light of the room into the unbroken side of my glasses, I could see Arthur crawling brokenly towards the mirrors. I could see his chest heaving with giggles, though I hardly registered what I was seeing at the time and certainly didn't register the sounds bouncing off the walls. I watched as he leaned back, reaching up to the shards and smearing orange-red blood down the glass.

Sound quickly returned to me, like the bad reception on a television, and I dimly realized I was still screaming. The room was lost on me as I flew into a blind rage. All I could hear was my own furious screaming. All I could feel was my desperate pounding at the door. The amount of betrayal I have felt at being forsaken was more than words can describe… After all I had done to please Ivan. My mind had a single thought on replay—_What have I done? What the fucking hell have I done? What have I done? What the fucking hell have I done?_— I felt nothing but an immense hatred. An immense hatred for myself, an immense hatred for Ivan, an immense— _What have I done?_— hatred for the situation, and an immense hatred, even, to Arthur, for willingly— _What the fucking hell have I done?_— getting himself into this mess. The most prominent feeling I had was the hatred for myself, for letting my selfishness lead my actions and allowing myself to hurt him. This was— _What have I done?_— my fault, and I was damn well deserving of every ache and pain I felt.

My screams continued as I beat at the door— _What the fucking hell have I done?_— and I hated everyone. I hated myself, as I said, but I hated everyone. I hated, especially, the goddamned commie bastard that had gotten us into this mess. I couldn't stop myself from tearing at the door, some unformed thought somewhere underneath my panic telling me that if I couldn't tear it open then I might as well tear through the wood. The wailing screams continued to come from my lips as I screamed at Ivan and screamed at myself. I screamed, a horrible sound. I hated, a loathsome burn deep within the confines of my stomach. I cried, a pitiful wail that envied those of Arthur's banshees. And, as the wood splintered and began to dig deep scratches and pieces of wood into my hands, I bled. I bled because I deserved to.

The scene playing out behind me was lost, though thinking back on it now I distinctly remember these words being uttered in a shrill, childish voice after the giggles had stopped. "Goodbye, Mr. Mirror Man. May flights of angels bring you through your wake."

I was still reeling as the sound of shattering glass broke my rage if only for a moment. My fingers were on fire, impaled with splinters of wood. My flesh was torn away in chunks from the abuse both to my hands and to the door that I had been dealing— it left me giddy, in an odd sort of way. At least pain did not leave me when I was hurting. I watched shattered mirror rain down (Arthur's face upturned to the glass, smiling at the miniature rainbows they casted). My betrayal still sent thoughts of disjointed, confused and exhausted origins through my mind.

_How is it? How is it possible? Did exactly… He left me…. Did exactly what he asked and he… How is it that I did…. I did what Ivan asked…. I did what Comrade asked…. He tossed me… Tossed me like a rag doll…. He left me…. Why? Used so badly… He used me so badly… All the pain… All the humiliation…. Was it for Ivan?... Comrade…. Got what he wanted…_ _So many head games…. So many times…. Couldn't talk from screaming…. Couldn't…. Couldn't..._

I slid down the door into a sitting position. My thoughts began to get more clearer as I pulled myself from the proverbial mental pit I had fallen into, gritting my teeth in anger. _I beat up Arthur, for Christ's sake! My friend and lover! All for what? An extra meal? A blanket? Praise from someone that forced me here in the first place? Much more, praise from someone I hated with all of my heart? Definitely to get away from the pain. I guess I really was just that desperate to make it stop… But to what price? I could have just killed the only person who matters to me in the entire fucking world!_

I tore at my hair with my mutilated hands, sniffling miserably. _What kind of monster have I become? This is all because of me…. _

After this thought hit me, I was painfully aware of something missing from the chaos that was the mirror room. _Laughter_, it hit me suddenly. I looked up at Arthur, who groaned in pain and sank to a sprawled position across the floor. I don't believe he realized he said it, but the quiet murmur falling from his lips rang across the room clearer than any of his laughter had hit me. "_I want my mirror man back…_"

My melancholy turned into outright despair at those words and I felt tears course even faster down my face. Arthur, _my_ Arthur, sounded so broken… I stared at the scene that had played out behind me, at first thinking I felt happiness. Nearly instantly after I thought that I squashed it down, the idea ludicrous to me. I could feel my eyes widening as terror hit me deeply in the chest, mixing with the darkest self-loathing as I stared at Arthur's battered body, curled into a foetal position on the floor in a puddle of his own blood and shattered glass.

My body trembled and my eyes ran with moisture as they burnt and swelled at the abuse of the salty water leaking through them. I raked my fingers through my hair, screaming as I brought the bloody digits down my face. No words were formed. Nothing could have been said to describe the anguish and disgust I felt, and so I simply… Screamed. I can't put an amount of time to how long I just sat there, crying and screaming. Hating myself. I hated myself more than I could ever possibly hate anything…

Eventually I calmed enough to decide on taking an action. Wincing, I pressed my palms to the floor. The bloody footprints around the room made my stomach lurch and burn. _Oh god… Oh god those boot prints are my size… Oh my god… A-Arthur…_ I dug my fingers into the dirty concrete floor to keep myself focused, the pain stopping me from falling to the side and puking up what little food I had in my stomach. The pain successfully suppressing the urge to vomit, I began to crawl. I barely noticed the feel of the little glass shards grinding and cutting underneath my knees. That mild discomfort was nothing compared to the dark, acidic feeling eating at my stomach and chest.

Nothing could have been worse than that feeling or the sights I couldn't force myself to look away from.

Sitting back, I brushed my hands along my pants to remove the crumbles of glass from the skin. Not for my own comfort, never for my own; but because I was sitting in Arthur's blood, staring at him. I had to touch him, to see if he was all right. Slowly, so very hesitantly, I reached out and ran my fingers over the sandy, matted hair of Arthur's head. With every brushing touch over his hair I slowly moved myself closer and closer. Soon his head was in my lap and I was running my fingers through his hair and over the swollen discoloured flesh f his face. Every bruise I found brought a new wave of nausea and hatred crashing down over me. Staring at his tired face, I wondered how he could possibly manage to sleep like that— how he was smiling like that after all that I had put him through. I thought his face was stained with tears, but I realized shortly after noticing them that those were only mine as I sobbed above him, never once stopping my touches.

Before I knew it, I was the one with my back to the mirrors. "Arthur… Arthur… Arthur…"

The name became my new mantra as I sobbed over him. The mirrored wall behind me was not for my own support, no. The reason my back was to the mirrors was because I simply couldn't look at myself anymore. I had never stared at anyone with so much hatred. Arthur, stubborn even in his sleep, refused to cooperate with me as I tried to get him to uncurl so that I could further inspect the damage Ivan had done and the damage… I had done. It didn't matter, as I cradled him in my arms and lap so close that I'm sure I felt some semblance of warmth. I buried my face into that matted, dirty blonde hair and wrapped my arms so tightly around him. Even though my arms felt sore, but I wouldn't let him go for the world. The thought of letting him go terrified me. _If I let him go, he'll slip away from me… If I let him go, he'll die…_

I cradled him into my arms until the energy to cry left me. Sitting there in silence, I held him close as if he could slip away at any moment. Stewing in my anger, I heard my voice crack even as I murmured vows against his bruised cheek. Venom laced every single word that fell from my lips. "This… This is my doing… I c-can't deny my part… I'm so fucking sorry, dammit… But this is all Ivan's fault. This is Ivan's entirely fucking fault! I swear to you, right here and n-now, Arthur… I swear on my own life…. He will never see the light of day again because of what he's caused…"

My being trembled horribly with every word uttered. My rage mounted with each syllable… I had uttered the words not only to come to terms with what I had done, but also to promise that Ivan would pay several times over for what he had done to Arthur— for what he had made me do to Arthur.

There would be hell to pay.


End file.
